


I Owe Each Kiss to Lip and Cheek

by OurUnforeseenTragedy



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Glorification of Alex Manes' Talent, Human AU, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurUnforeseenTragedy/pseuds/OurUnforeseenTragedy
Summary: Michael's steps into a new bar.





	I Owe Each Kiss to Lip and Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Michael Guerin Week 2019: Day Seven - Drunk and Disorderly. I might continue this, but life is starting to get real hectic. 
> 
> Title is from Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier.
> 
> I only own my writing, not characters or music.

Michael walked into the bar.

It wasn’t classy, per se. No, the décor was kinda gritty, the patrons more so, but the bar was homey and clean. Sure, there was a hint of hard day’s work in the air, but Michael figured that just came with the territory. There was a soft buzzing in the air, a sort of excitement underlying the hum of the mass of locals. The cue ball clacked, a man cursed, a dart thunked. The fading evening glow disappeared behind him as the doors shut, only allowed the entrance of a few skylights. 

Michael meandered to the bar between the tables and the patrons, taking a good look at the pool tables to the left, the dartboard on the far wall, the booths on the wall to his right. There were a few people gathered around the stage to the right of the entrance, checking cords and setting up mics. Maybe there was gonna be an event later on? Liz hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

Michael swiped a seat at the bar as a burly man got up. A lucky grab from the looks of the house. He flagged down the bartend, a woman with luminous eyes and a smile at the edge of her lips. A hiss of a beer bottle and a flirt later, he was sipping on a beer and staring at a sign that advertised _Open Mic Night! This Thursday_. It’s a ballsy move, considering how busy it was right now. But who knows? Maybe they’ve got some talent around here. 

Michael was new to town. He had transferred over as part of continuing his research at TriCross after undergrad. That’s where he met Liz, who told him about this bar. They were quick friends, bouncing ideas off each other, making sure the other ate, bantering back and forth. She suggested the bar after he complained of the flashy place he would frequent just to have a drink after work. Sure, the people were pretty, but there’s only so much Michael could take. 

A bright peal of laughter brought Michael out of his thoughts. He turned his head just as the bartend hugged someone across the bar. Michael took a sip as he tried to scope out the situation. They were a man, from the look of the build and the shoulders, which Michael didn’t really appreciate considering that the beautiful bartend seemed pretty interes— 

Oh. Speaking of beautiful. 

The man left the embrace, a smile curving his lips and crinkling his brown eyes at the corners. Brown eyes that had a touch of kohl lining them. And while that jawline could not cut a man in two, it was still a damn good jawline, accented by the slight stubble he had going on. The open dark blue button-down, on top of the white tank hugged his body well, as did the brown joggers tucked into the brown-ish grey boots. Light glinted off of the rings on his fingers as he rubbed his neck, drawing Michael’s eyes to the gunpowder studs in the man’s ears. The man leaned on the bar top onto tanned, muscled forearms that peeked out of rolled up sleeves, necklaces swinging away from where they were laid on his upper chest.

Michael needs to swallow the slightly warm beer he has in his mouth before it dribbles down his slack jaw.

After one rough swallow (and, wow, Michael did not need to be thinking like that right now), Michael turned back to the bar with his mind left with the man.

“How about a shot for good luck?” the bartender asked.

The man groaned. “I would, but you and I both know what that does to my voice. And I don’t need a repeat of karaoke night right now.”

“Your loss. You won’t need it anyway. You’re gonna knock them dead.”

“Thanks, Maria.”

Michael glanced over as the man pushed away from the bar and made his way to the stage. Those pants clung to the man’s ass in all the right ways, the shirt taut on his broad shoulders.

Michael turned back before he got caught staring. He didn’t even know he had a thing for broad shoulders, but he’s having a good time, so he isn’t complaining about such a gift. He’d always listened to Max waxing poetic about this and that quality on a girl (which only got worse when he met Liz), but Michael had never felt the need to do so himself. He owed Max an apology the next time Michael saw him. He shifted in his seat, angling back toward the stage. 

The man from the bar was standing by the mic, setting down a glass of water on the stout table beside him. He settled on the stool, pulling his guitar out of his case and tossing his rings back into the empty shell. Michael sipped his beer as he watched the man check and adjust the strings on the acoustic guitar.

Michael had never had another man catch his eye like this. Sure, there were a few cases here and there where he knew he wasn’t straight – one of his classmates back in high school, a guy he used to work with – but never something he wanted to actively pursue. There was something about the man in the blue shirt, and it dragged his gaze from the women in the bar. Michael glanced to the side, catching the eye of the bartend that the man had talked to, a beautiful woman with sharp wit and a flirtatious smile. She looked him up and down, a bit more interested than someone just doing their job. She gave him a wink, but Michael was already turning back to face the stage. 

“—anyway, here’s ‘Wonderwall.’”

A groan went through the bar, having heard the song three times too many. Michael shared in the sentiment. The man’s mouth slowly curved upward, giving the bar a crooked smile.

“I’m kidding. I’ll be performing ‘Girl Crush’ by Little Big Town.” 

The man glanced down, focusing on the song at hand. He slid his hand up and down the fret board, plucking the strings with precision, with each note ringing through the bar over the murmur of the crowd.

“_I got a girl crush._

“_Hate to admit it, but_

“_I got a heart rush._

“_Ain’t slowin’ down…_”

The man sang of unrequited love, his baritone rich with emotion. His voice started out light, a self-deprecating smile sliding slowly on his face. Slowly, his voice become more tinged with sorrow and envy. Michael watched as the smile slid from his face, replaced by eyes that spoke of grief and experience. Those glossy eyes weren’t seeing the inside of the bar anymore. The man’s brow furrowed, looking back down and focusing on his picking.

“_I don’t get no sleep…”_

The man switched to strumming as his voice reached a crescendo. His voice ebbed and flowed like waves on the beach, accenting parts of the song that conveyed an inner turmoil. 

“_I don’t get no peace_,

“_Thinking about her_

“_Under your bedsheets…_”

Michael had always been drawn to music and its powerful way of ordering the chaos of his mind. Classical is what his friends and collogues listened to while working and studying, but he didn’t mind the type of music. If he could just get some quiet in his mind, it was good with him. But there was something about this man and his voice that blocked the entire world out.

The man sang as if he was giving his audience a part of himself, and Michael could feel himself giving the whole of his attention back to the man. His thoughts were not just drowned in the face of the music, but they were willingly silent, just as enraptured by the man in blue as Michael himself.

The man in blue finished out the song, ending on the same self-deprecating lines as before. The scattered applause around the bar pulled Michael’s attention back from the stage. The man smiled back at the bar, but Michael could still see the residual emotion sticking to him – the tightness around his smile, the red tinge to his ears, the minute tenseness to his brow.

Regardless of this, the man continued on with his set, adjusting a capo as necessary. Michael was amazed at the range of emotions the man conveyed through his singing. “I See Fire” by Ed Sheeran invoked a melancholy and desperation. His fingers flew across the fret board, hammering and pulling as if he was born with a guitar in his hands. “To Noise Making” by Hozier sparked a sheer giddiness with its playful chunking and syncopation. “Banana Pancakes” somehow translated a lazy morning-after into music with its easy-going flow. The bar paid its due in applause when it happened to remember, clearly more interested in itself than the man in front of it.

“Thanks for having me. My name is Alex Manes, and I hope you have a good night,” the man signed off with a jaunty single-finger salute and a smirk.

Alex. The man’s name is Alex Manes.

Michael is more gone on someone than he’s ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments are the lifeblood of this corporal unit.


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